


When the Levee Breaks

by blue_wo1f



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Empath, Empathic Harvey, Hand-wavey Science, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wo1f/pseuds/blue_wo1f
Summary: It's not that Harvey doesn't care; it's that he can't afford to. Or, the one where Harvey is an empath.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been posted over on FF.net since I wrote it, but I somehow managed to forget to put it up over here. For like 4 years. Oops. I intended to continue it, but then life got in the way, etc. etc. However, there's no terrible cliffhanger at the end, so no worries on that front. Maybe I'll even pick it back up eventually WHO KNOWS. Takes place during S1, I think, written for a prompt on the kinkmeme, and still as unbeta'd as the day I first wrote it. Herp derp derp.

Harvey’s an empath. It’s not anything new (at least not to him; he was born with it), but it still makes it ridiculously difficult to function some days. It’s hard enough being a highly successful lawyer at a highly prestigious firm, working through paperwork, phone calls, and client meetings, without having to worry about trying to block out the emotions of every other person on his floor.

Most empaths need to be in contact with another person to read what they’re feeling. Harvey does not. It helps, of course, makes the read far more accurate and allows him to pick up nuances and details that a distanced read can’t give him. It’s also had the minor side effect of giving him an overall aversion to casual touchiness. (The suits help him avoid it. Actually, his appearance in general, and typical demeanor, do wonders to ward off any overly friendly would-be assailants.)

The whole thing is both a blessing and a curse. Is it helpful to know just how confident the opposition is in their defense the minute he walks into a court room? Yeah, okay, sure. And yeah, okay, it’s also helpful to know the real emotions of a new client just by shaking their hand, or to pick up imprints left on evidence, or even to know just how far off he is from pressing where it hurts. But honestly, the rest of the time? He really just wishes he could turn it off.

It’s harder to focus when he’s really tired, or stressed. Or both. Like right now. The current case has been an absolute bitch, but it should be over soon. Assuming the opposing counsel doesn’t find another legal stall tactic to throw at him, while the team of highly-successful-lawyers-who-are-not-Harvey-Specter work at undermining Harvey’s client’s case.

It’s with that cheerful thought that he steps into the elevator. It’s cramped (damn it) and the ride up seems suffocating. Yes, his walls do seem to have a few major leaks at the moment (damn it, damn it). It’s a relief to get to his floor, to escape the confined press of _boredguiltyjealousgiddyirritatedamused_ and move into a space where he feels less like he’s drowning. Or bipolar. Whatever.

Donna shoots him a small smirk over her blackberry as he approaches, and Harvey grins tiredly back at her with a, “Morning, Donna. Did you happen to-?”

She hands him a cup of coffee and a slim manila folder before he even finishes asking the question.

Harvey genuinely likes Donna. She’s sharp and smart and doesn’t take any of his shit. She’s a damn good secretary. She also doesn’t know he’s an empath or to be careful of accidental touch, so if he has to suppress a bit of a flinch when her hand brushes his as she hands him the cup, well, it’s not like it’s never happened before.

It takes him a few seconds to re-center himself (hell, he must be more off than he thought; contact that brief really shouldn’t hit him so hard), and Donna’s smirk has widened by the time he turns his focus back to her. Harvey scowls at her as he moves towards his office but doesn’t say anything. He doesn't quite trust himself in his current state of mind to keep snarky from crossing over into douchebag territory. Even Harvey doesn’t want to risk being on Donna’s bad side. There is no coffee waiting at the office for him on Donna’s bad side, and the helpful reminders about moved meetings that do manage to reach his inbox only tend to give him about five minutes of warning.

The day continues much the same as they all have for the past three weeks since this stupid case began. Mike staggers in some time around a quarter to eight, looking harried and largely sleep-deprived. The case has been as hard, if not harder, on him- he is the one having to dig up all the research and precedents and various documentation, after all- and Harvey would maybe feel a bit guilty about it, except that he’s nearly dead on his feet as well. He just hides it better, clearly.

He amuses himself for a bit by betting against himself and idly watching the minutes tick by on his watch in between flipping through documentation of previous deals made with the opposing company. Sure enough, twenty minutes later, Mike bursts through the door (the rush Harvey feels from Donna is pure gleeful amusement, despite the disapproving glare she directs at Mike’s back). The younger man is radiating enough panicked anxiety that Harvey is _certain_ he’d be able to pick it up from the ground floor (and also certain it’s likely to give him a migraine if there’s prolonged exposure), and shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot in a way that Harvey thinks would probably tip him off even if he couldn’t read emotions. His associate’s talking a mile a minute before the door’s even fully closed.

“Ummm, hi, Harvey, you know how you asked me to fill out a request for those forms last night? Because I totally did, and I’m positive I filled it out right, and everything, and I gave it to Jim from Research, I know I did, and I told him it was urgent and that you’d need them today, but I thought maybe he didn’t listen? So I went down to see him already and he said he’d dropped them off…“

Mike carries on for another minute or two, and Harvey props his chin in his palm, just watching, since it seems unlikely he’ll be able to get a word in edgewise until Mike pauses for more than half a second to breathe.

Mike is… well. Mike is Mike. There really isn’t any one way to describe him. He can be brilliant, genius even, when he’s not fretting over disappointing Harvey or exposing their fraud. Or being painfully, unbelievably naive. He’s good with clients of all sorts, and genuine in a way Harvey’s lost over the years (or maybe never was to begin with). He’s also one of the most ridiculous people Harvey’s ever met.

By the time he’s neared the end of his rambling, Harvey figures that the gist of it basically comes down to “I think I’ve fucked up and lost something kind of important, but am trying to make it seem less catastrophic than it is”. It takes him until the actual end to realize that the subject of Mike’s frantic search is currently in a slim manila folder now sitting on his desk, and Harvey finds himself having to tamp down on the sudden urge to laugh.

Instead, he fixes Mike with his best unimpressed stare (because watching the kid squirm will never _not_ be fun), then wordlessly holds up the file after a few moments. There’s confused apprehension on Mike’s face as he takes it. Harvey feels it the moment the confusion’s replaced by heady, flooding relief, which mixes with indignant outrage a few moments later, like he thinks Harvey’s taken the file on purpose, just to screw with him. (Which is ridiculous; he’s an ass, but not _that much_ of an ass.) It’s the indignant outrage that shows outwardly, and Mike opens and closes his mouth a couple times, like he can’t quite find the right words to express it. Harvey’s quick to shoo him back to his cubicle before he can manage.

After that, it’s a series of long hours full of paper work, a too-short lunch break, and one incredibly vexing phone call which leaves Harvey wanting to hit something afterwards. (He can appreciate the art of being a conniving bastard, he really can, but only to a certain _limit_ and these people just _will not compromise._ )

Mike, however, seems to have found something of a lead. Harvey might know more of what it might be, if the kid would stop darting in only to stop mid-explanation with a “Wait, hold on- that’s in… yeah, just gimme a sec-“ and dart back out again to, presumably, rifle through more documentation. He gets fed up the third time this happens, finally telling Mike to just stop, bring all the paperwork to his office, he can use the table by the couch (because Jesus _Christ,_ he hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that all-nighters made Mike more of an idiot that first week, and that had only been _one night_ ).

It comes out more harshly than he means it to _but God, he’s just so **tired** and his barriers haven’t been down like this in **years,** what the hell, he’s had much worse cases than this, and he’s getting emotional feedback every time someone walks past the door, and, and _and Mike goes completely, totally still for just a second, blinking at him. He’s frowning at Harvey. The stillness is unusual, but it’s an expression Harvey’s seen, and felt, on him before _slightly hurt kind of irritated_ except… except he _can’t_ feel it this time. There’s just a sort of… hum, almost. Like engine noise. White noise. Background noise. Unobtrusive, not unpleasant, just… there. It’s highly disconcerting, but before he can do much more than register it, Mike’s sniping off something that’s both affirmation and complaint and turning back through the door to grab the files at his cubicle. The hum disappears.

Harvey doesn’t get a chance to ponder on it after that, because Mike really has found a solution and they spend the rest of the evening discussing the next course of action. It’ll take a couple more days to get the necessary information, but they’ve both lasted this long and the end is in sight. Harvey is pretty sure he can handle that.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not that Harvey doesn’t care. It’s that he can’t afford to.

Emotions are dangerous enough when it’s just the hosts feeling them. People are able to manipulate and abuse them so easily it’s ridiculous, and that’s not even bringing empathy into the equation.

It’s an unusual ability, but not unheard of. Most people know about it, if even only vaguely as some research division occasionally mentioned in the news. Even so, it’s not something Harvey likes to share. Jessica is the only one who knows about it (aside from his family) and he prefers to keep it that way, because as easy as it is for him to use people’s emotions against them, it’s a two-way street. Letting people in at all is dangerous, and Harvey’s heard the horror stories; how some empaths trusted too much, allowed frequent, extended, completely unblocked connections with friends, lovers, and suffered psychotic breaks when they could no longer mentally separate themselves from those they read.

So Harvey’s careful. He keeps his barriers high and thick, allows in only enough to let him get a feel for a person, and studiously blocks out everything else the rest of the time. He still picks up the general moods of those around him, but that’s okay, that’s manageable. It’s distanced enough most of the time that he can separate and compartmentalize it. Ignore it. Because he really, really can’t afford to care too much about it.

***

The case is over. The case from hell is finally over, which would be reason enough to celebrate, but they’ve _won_ the case from hell too, and Harvey is more than pleased. (Also more than a little relieved, because now he can go home and sleep and hopefully that will stop every passing mood shift walking past his door from hitting him like a slap to the face.) Mike’s victorious exuberance is infectious, and Harvey can feel it leeching in, mingling with his own smug contentment (that’s bad, he should really not be letting that happen) as the younger man struts beside him on their way back into the building. He’s willing to let Mike suck at gloating for a bit on this one; it was a well-earned victory.

They make it back to the Pearson Hardman building around five- early enough to be able to finish up at a reasonable hour- and Harvey’s already planning on how to unwind once he gets home when Donna flags him down on his way into his office.

“Jessica wants to see you, Harvey.”

He’s momentarily thrown. “For what? I haven’t done anything-,” Donna gives him a look. “…This week,” he amends. “But, no, seriously, what does she want?”

“I can honestly tell you I have no idea. But here’s a thought- you could go to her office and ask her.”

He scowls at her. “Donna, you’re my secretary. Isn’t it your job to, you know, give me the details on these sorts of things?”

“Nope!” she says cheerfully. “Just to run your life for you. Now shoo. Jessica’s office.”

There is something inherently wrong, he decides as he turns down the hall towards what is likely to be a lecture over something he’s fairly sure he hasn’t done, with a world in which highly-paid, highly-successful lawyers with thousand-dollar billables are bossed around by their secretaries. But then, most secretaries are probably not Donna, so that’s some consolation at least.

***

Harvey’s always liked Jessica’s office. He’s self-aware enough to admit that that’s probably more because it feels like her than out of any appreciation for her taste in interior decorating, but either way it’s always felt safe.

Jessica Pearson is by far the person he trusts most on this planet, and though Donna is a close second, there are things about him that Jessica is privy to (the empathy thing aside) that Donna most likely never will be. Though really, the only reason she knows them at all was out of necessity. Also because she can be a terribly cruel, demanding slave driver of a boss and, yeah, fine, Harvey really was kind of a fuck up when she found him. (The parallels between their history and this thing with Mike are something he tries not to look at too closely. Ever.)

The point is Jessica is one of the very (very) few people Harvey doesn’t mind (read: is generally forced into) letting a bit further in.

She’s standing at the windows when Harvey walks in, and he knocks quietly on the doorframe to get her attention. She feels faintly irritated. _Proceed with caution_ , he decides.

“You wanted to see me?”

She turns and studies him from her place by the glass. “You look tired.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a long couple of weeks. Was there something you needed?”

Jessica sighs and turns fully toward him, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. “Sit down, Harvey.”

Harvey, naturally, balks. “Is there something wrong? Look, we closed the Richards case this afternoon, and as far as I’m aware, I did nothing to piss him off. And neither did Mike; he hardly even said anything- so whatever you’re about to ball me out over, can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

Jessica’s lips turn up faintly, and she fixes him with a wry look. “I’m going to ignore your immediate assumption of your own guilt and my reciprocal punishment simply because I’m not in the mood to find out what you’ve done to deserve it.”

He opens his mouth, but she cuts him off before he can form a retort. “It’s come to my attention that one of our more recently acquired clients is considering moving his business to a rival firm.”

“And you called me in here to, what, tell me to go make sure he doesn’t jump ship?”

“No, I called you in here to ask you if you’re up to it.”

“…What? Jessica, it’s wining and dining a client; I can do that in my sleep.”

“Under normal circumstances, yes, you can. But right now you’re looking a bit rough around the edges, Harvey, and I can’t afford to have you off your game.”

“Off my- I’m not off my game! Or did you miss the part where I mentioned _I won the Richards case._ I’m _fine._ ”

Jessica’s lips tighten, and _Ah,_ he thinks, _there’s the irritation._ “I’d be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t flinching every time someone walks by outside my door.”

He’s protesting before he even really thinks about it. Habit, more than anything. Jessica cuts him off again, and now her irritation is bleeding over into an actual temper.

“You can’t honestly have thought I wouldn’t notice.” For all that he knows she’s angry at him, her voice and expression remain calm. She fixes him with a look for a few moments, then, “How bad is it?”

“How bad is what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Harvey; it’s unbecoming.”

Harvey sighs then, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s lost this one. “…I’ve had a headache for the last few days. I’m picking up more than I should be, considering I’m trying to block it out. Stuff’s been leaking through anyway. And I can’t make contact without getting a detailed read in the process, at best.”

He feels her concern before he sees it and instantly feels guilty. Despite the majority of his actions, he’s never liked causing Jessica to worry. Not without having a definite fix for it, anyway.

“I just need to go home and sleep, Jessica. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.” The unspoken _hopefully_ he keeps to himself.

She’s doubtful, but what she says is a mild, “I’m holding you to that.”

He takes it as the dismissal it’s meant to be and heads back to his office. The sooner he finishes up the last of the paperwork, the sooner he can go home and sleep, and then everything will be back to goddamn normal.


	3. Chapter 3

Everything does not, in fact, go back to normal. If anything, it steadily gets worse. It’s entirely unfair, because at first, it does feel like everything is as it should be. It’s unfair, because he starts off that day in a _good mood_. It’s unfair, because none of this should have happened in the first place. Harvey goes into the office, and he’s not picking up anything worse than wisps of feeling from those he passes. _But there’s an angry imprint left in the elevator that makes him wince when he hits the button. He ignores it._

He stops at Donna’s desk to check his schedule for that afternoon and they snipe at each other for a few minutes. Which is good. _Normal._ Then he sits at his desk and calls Jessica’s wayward client as he waits for his computer to boot up. _And if the glow of the screen makes him suddenly more aware of a dull throbbing behind his eyes, well, he ignores that too._

Harvey schedules a meeting over lunch for that afternoon with Mr. Matthew McClain, and by the time he hangs up the phone the man is already half-charmed back into their business. (Seriously, this is going to be painfully easy.) He’s in the middle of responding to an email when he catches sight of Mike at Donna’s desk, picking up the files Harvey left there for him. They’ve warmed up to each other in the last few months, enough to be, if not friends, then at least friendly towards each other. He watches his associate and his secretary talk, Mike looking like as much of an overgrown puppy as always and Donna like she’s trying desperately not to smile. It’s not really working. _And should he happen to feel the burst of delight a minute later when Donna’s grinning wickedly at the helplessly sniggering Mike leaning on the wall of her cubicle, they are only outside the door, after all. He can ignore this as well._

It isn’t until he goes to meet McClain that Harvey is forced to admit that, yes, there might still be (is definitely) something wrong. He spends the meeting being his usual charming, witty self. McClain spends the meeting being seduced by Harvey’s charm and wit back into his previous arrangement with Pearson Hardman, and sometime in the middle, Harvey thinks, ‘ _It really is fine, everything really is okay’_ with no small amount of relief. But then he’s shaking McClain’s hand outside the restaurant afterwards and the man’s _reassuredcontentment_ hits him like a _fucking freight train_ and, shit, there goes that theory.

It all goes downhill from there, and Harvey, in retrospect, is willing to admit that he probably made two crucial mistakes that day. One, he didn’t tell Jessica. And, two, he decided to self-medicate via burying himself in his workload.

Some part of him does recognize the stupidity of this decision at the time, but to his credit, it actually has worked in the past, providing a distraction from the overabundant influx of information. _He carefully refuses to acknowledge how his barriers were never this badly damaged during those times._ It does kind of help, at first. For a few days, anyway.

Then he starts noticing little things that piss him off. Errors in contracts, typos in depositions and briefs. A faint rattling noise in the company car. Tics in people’s speech that he normally wouldn’t pay any mind to. He’s short, almost snappish, to everyone, and the urge to pull back and full-out punch Louis in the face every time he sees him is almost overwhelming. It’s not until he finds himself irrationally seething at his cell phone one morning that Harvey realizes what’s happening.

It’s a defense mechanism from way before he’d met Jessica. He hadn’t known how to block things out back then, not properly, and there hadn’t been nearly as much known about empathy as there is now; he’d had no one to ask for help. So he’d found his own coping method, letting his temper keep things in check, burning off outside influence before it could get too deep and giving him something internal to focus on that was _his._ And it did help, despite how self-destructive it was (damn if it isn’t another parallel with Mike, too- because that’s what the weed had to have been; a coping method for that ridiculous memory). It’s resurfaced now, since the block-out-and-ignore tactic seems to be failing. Old habits, and all that.

It all comes to a head at the end of the week. He’s been a walking time-bomb for the last month, if he’s honest, and it’s only bad luck in the end that Mike is the one to set him off.

They’ve been working a merger, which Harvey despises even under normal circumstances, and absolutely hates under current ones. They are, as he’s said many times before, incredibly boring and a waste of his considerable talents. (Though he has taken Jessica’s threats to heart, at least, and started billing the clients more. He considers it compensation for the agony of having to oversee their affairs.) That said, this merger in particular is nothing he hasn’t done before; a bigger, international software company that wants to absorb a smaller, American company, which wants to maintain some control over its assets. Tedious, yes, but not particularly interesting. Easily handled in four days, tops. Boring.

But not for Mike.

Mike, who is brilliant and capable when he knows what he’s doing, and who Harvey somehow sometimes forgets really never did go to law school. Mike, who, despite knowing American corporate law just as well as the text books, hasn’t really had the chance to study up on international law.

So it isn’t any real surprise that Mike has screwed something up. It isn’t even much of an issue; they aren’t that far into the process. They just need to go back in a re-file a few things. And normally, Harvey would just roll his eyes, give the kid an impatient explanation on how to fix it, and tell him to get it done ASAP. (With maybe a few vague threats thrown in for good measure. He’s never sure what, exactly, Mike imagines is going to happen if he doesn’t come through, but whatever it is, it’s effective. And probably far more creative than anything Harvey could come up with.)

Current circumstances, however, have made his patience nonexistent. He’s tired, he’s pissed, he hates fucking mergers, and when Mike steps tentatively into his office holding a small stack of files and an apologetic expression, it’s just…the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“Harvey? I’m really, really sorry, but I think I might have misfiled some of these.”

Harvey closes his eyes and counts slowly backwards from ten before looking up. It doesn’t really help. “Of course you did,” he says flatly.

Mike frowns. “Look, I _told_ you that I’m not up to par on international law. I’ve never done this before, Harvey, okay? I told you I didn’t know what I was doing, I asked you-“

“And I told you to _figure it out!_ ” Harvey snaps back. “It was one thing, Mike, _one thing_ that I asked you to do, and you’ve still managed to screw it up.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose!” Mike says angrily. “You weren’t offering any assistance, and the reference books I needed were all being used! What was I supposed to do?”

“Try harder! There are other ways to find answers, Michael! Did you try that paralegal you’re always fawning over? I’m sure she’d help you out for _reasonable compensation.”_

“What the hell is that supposed to me-“

“Or there’s this thing, Mike, the internet. It’s been around a few years, you might have heard of it, in between lighting up with Trevor,” Harvey says meanly. He’s standing now, on the other side of his desk. _When did that happen?_ “I seem to remember it being a pretty good place to look up answers. Or were you too busy trying to sift through all the shit in your _pot-addled brain_ to remember-“

He cuts off. _The humming is back._ Mike’s staring at him with this wide-eyed, shell shocked expression, and Donna is turned around, looking like she’s seconds away from storming in and giving him a tongue lashing of her own. He takes a second to close his eyes and just breathe before looking back at Mike and huffing out a quiet sigh.

“Just…just give them here, Mike. Go home.” _I’m sorry._

The younger man wordlessly hands him the folders, and Harvey takes them, giving Mike one last glance before turning away and heading silently back to his desk. He misses the way Mike’s brow furrows at his expression, and the way his eyes narrow in sudden thought. By the time Harvey looks back up through the glass walls of his office, Mike is gone.

***

Harvey gets home late that night and promptly decides that the best way to deal with everything is to drown it in a couple bottles of beer and a Star Trek marathon. (He’s not in the mood for…other company, and anyway, Star Trek is, and always shall be, awesome.)

So he throws a bag of popcorn in the microwave, changes into more comfortable clothes while it’s popping, pulls a couple of Hacker-Pschorrs out of the fridge and a weisse beer glass down from the cabinet, and brings the whole mess into the living room.

The new movie is by no means sub-par, but the classic episodes have nostalgia and childhood hero worship going for them. (He’d explained this to Mike when the kid asked him if he’d liked the reboot. He’d listened, grin fully in place, and nodded sagely when Harvey stopped talking, with a, “Yeah, I get that. It’s like Red, Blue, and Yellow versions. They’re just…you can’t beat them, with all the nostalgic stuff that comes with playing them.” Harvey has since learned that ‘Red, Blue, and Yellow versions’ refer to Pokémon games. He can’t decide if he’s offended at the comparison of Star Trek to Pokémon, or if it’s endearing that Mike has emotional attachments to pixilated monsters. Then he mentally slaps himself for even thinking on it further and decides that Mike probably loved all of his enslaved creatures more than was healthy and cried every time one of them died in battle, and resolutely _does not think about it beyond that.)_

He ends up watching _The City on the Edge of Forever_ (because it’s one of the best episodes), _Space Seed_ (because Khan was a good villainous douche), _Arena_ (iconic, despite being ridiculous), _The Naked Time_ (also ridiculous, but enough to make him grin throughout when he’s had two beers), and _Shore Leave_ (back rubs) before jumping over to Season 2.

Harvey will never, ever, under pain of death, admit to liking _The Trouble with Tribbles_ as much as he does. (But _come on_ , what kid didn’t want a Tribble after seeing that episode? And he was, like, six when he first watched it, okay, the impression stuck. Also, they’re cute. Shut up.) He might, however, (depending on who’s asking) confess to shipping Kirk and Spock (because, seriously, _back rubs._ How much more _obvious_ could they _get?_ ), which is why he (stupidly) starts _Amok Time…_

…and winces as Spock hurls dishes at the wall, chews out Chapel, and basically has a giant meltdown. Shit. _Reminding you of anyone, there, Harvey?_

_He had a legitimate reason,_ he argues with himself. _There was something wrong with him._

_But the others didn’t know that, did they?_

Oh, hell. He’s going to have to apologize to Mike. _Actually_ apologize, not just keep his distance until the kid’s gotten over it. Fuckity goddamn fucking fuck.

He keeps watching, out of some deluded hope that he’ll be pulled back into the plotline, but Jesus, the blows just keep coming. As much as he likes to jokingly compare himself to Captain Kirk, he’s never actually _actively compared his life to episodes of Star Trek. Christ._ He should have stopped at two beers, he really should have; clearly three was too many.

Somehow, he makes it through to the end, and Spock’s smiling at Kirk, saying _Jim!_ (yeah, they totally have a thing), and Harvey finds himself thinking of Mike and the bright smile the kid got when he said he’d won his most recent solo case…and _Oh God, fuck you, brain,_ definitely should have stopped at two beers.

The thing is, Harvey has known for a while now that, on some level, Mike is attracted to him. He’d shaken his hand that fateful day at the hotel, and beneath the top layers of _panic-apprehension-surprise_ , he’d also picked out distinct undercurrents of _anger_ (which he now knows was directed at Trevor) and that particular spiky, warm feeling that comes with attraction (which he’d figured (and has since confirmed) was directed at himself).

To Mike’s credit, he does a good job of covering it. It’s never close enough to the surface for Harvey to notice at a distance, and it’s only because of their rare moments of direct, skin-to-skin contact (the _very_ occasional fist bump, handshakes, a few accidental brushes because Mike is high-strung and fidgety, and Harvey still refuses to ever stoop to highfives) that he knows Mike still feels it at all.

It’s just that Harvey doesn’t do relationships. Not like that. Full blown relationships require certain levels of give-and-take and more openness than he can really afford. One night stands are easy; more like business transactions than anything. Mutual pleasure for himself and the other person and then they go their separate ways. No deep-rooted emotions involved; low-risk for him, and satisfying for both parties. He would have actually considered it with Mike except that 1) he’s fairly certain Mike would be incapable of _not_ being awkward about it at the office, and 2) there are things that he _has_ picked up surface-level which make him think that Mike’s attraction to him isn’t just physical.

By themselves, they’re harmless enough; the rushes of admiration he gets from Mike when he’s been particularly awesome in court, swells of affection when they banter between working, this odd, glowing pleasure whenever Harvey tells him something even remotely complimentary. But coupled with that underlying attraction, the whole mess is a recipe for something Harvey can’t _doesn’t want to_ get into. He’s comfortable enough with the roles he has - boss, mentor, colleague, sometimes-friend - and he’s not going to push them. And having those roles pretty much guarantees that Mike won’t push either. Win-win.


	4. Chapter 4

The weekend passes in quiet solitude, and, despite the work Harvey had brought home to finish, is curiously restful. It hasn’t done anything to help with the leaks, but he no longer feels like he’s going to remove the head of anyone who irritates him either, so. That’s a plus. (He may or may not have also spent it planning out his apology to Mike so as not to sound like he’s suddenly started oozing _caring_ everywhere. Because he _hasn’t._ He just wants to make sure Mike’s performance doesn’t suffer due to _petulantly sulking like a teenage girl_ whenever Harvey’s in sight. Seriously. He’s seen the kid do it. He suspects Donna has been coaching him in being melodramatic and looking soul-wrenchingly pathetic on cue, but so far has yet to find proof.)

He nods his thanks to Ray as they pull up in front of the building and heads in. The headache returns almost as soon as the elevator doors open to his floor, but it seems a bit more bearable than it was on Friday.

Donna doesn’t so much as glance up at his approach, or when he pulls open the door of the office and goes inside. She’s pissed. It’s not surprising.

She does, however, interrupt her intense focus on Words with Friends when he comes back out a while later carrying a draft of the contract for Mike to look over. (He might be hopeless in most other areas, but Mike has a definite knack for sniffing out loopholes.) The look she shoots Harvey as he passes clearly says, ‘ _You’d better fix it’,_ and somehow also seems to imply bodily harm if he doesn’t. The look he shoots back at her says, ‘ _No shit’,_ because, well, no shit. Extenuating circumstances or no, he didn’t have the right to take it out on his associate, and both of them know it. She holds his gaze for a second longer, like she’s making sure her point is abundantly clear, before turning back to her computer in haughty dismissal. Harvey waits until he’s certain she can’t see his face before rolling his eyes (he’s well aware that Donna could kick his ass any day of the week) because there is seriously a power disparity here that really shouldn’t exist.

Harvey pauses in the hallway outside the bullpen. He’s not hesitating. Harvey Specter does not hesitate. He’s just making sure his associate’s there, is all. And Mike is, seated at his desk with papers in front of him and a highlighter cap between his teeth. He doesn’t look up at Harvey’s approach either, but it’s due to genuine obliviousness rather than any petulant sulking, as far as Harvey can tell. He has his headphones in and appears completely engrossed in whatever he’s reading. And actually…from here, he doesn’t feel upset or angry or…any of what Harvey thought he would be, which is…unexpected.

The kid startles when Harvey tugs one of the earbuds out, but quickly smiles when he sees who it is.

“Harvey! Hey, good morning.” _Pleasure. Relief._ Odd.

“Mike. I’ve drafted a contract for the Hawkins merger. I want you to check it over before the meeting tomorrow.”

“Sure, no problem,” Mike says mildly, already flipping open the folder. Harvey watches him skim over the first couple pages and definitely does not fidget.

“Mike, listen. About Friday…” Harvey trails off, considering his words, but Mike just shakes his head.

“It’s fine, Harvey-- don’t worry about it.”

“No, what I said was… out of line. There’s no excuse for-“

“ _Harvey._ Seriously, it’s all good-- you don’t have to apologize. It was a bad day; everyone has them, and it’s cool. But thank you.”

There’s something lurking beneath his smile now, and Harvey can’t quite place it. It’s easy, almost soft, and Harvey would say it’s _understanding,_ only that doesn’t make sense. Mike doesn’t _know._

They rib each other for a bit before Harvey heads back towards his office. He feels slightly off-kilter, but can’t really place why.

Donna skewers him with a look as soon as he’s in sight of her desk and says, “ _Well?_ Everything good? _”_ when he’s close enough to hear.

Harvey would really, desperately, love to say, “ _Why yes, Donna, I have left Mike with a brilliantly composed, heart-felt apology and everything is copacetic.”_ Except, he hadn’t. Mike hadn’t needed, or even wanted one; had just smiled that weird little knowing smile, teased Harvey for the attempt ( _Man, you look so awkward right now. Don’t do this very often, huh?),_ and then shooed him off so he could start on the draft.

Donna, however, is still looking expectant. Harvey sighs. “I think so?”

“You think so?” she says, arching an eyebrow. “That’s not how it works, Harvey; either you apologized and fixed it, or you didn’t.”

“There wasn’t anything that needed fixing.” Donna’s expression goes somewhere between exasperated and vaguely murderous. “There wasn’t! He’s fine, Donna.”

She gives him a narrow look, but eventually says, “Alright. But I swear, Harvey, if he comes over here later today looking all heartbroken and woeful, _there will be words._ ”

“Oh?”

“Mmhm. And a lunch date with your mother on Saturday.”

Harvey blinks at her. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” she says sweetly.

She watches the pair of them like a hawk for the rest of the day, but Mike shows no signs of either heartbreak or woe. He’s finished with the contract just after lunch and brings it back to Harvey.

“There were a couple little things that they might try to exploit, but otherwise it looks good to me. I’ve highlighted them and marked the pages, but didn’t alter anything. I figured you’d want to do that.”

“Yeah…” Harvey says absently, then, “Yeah,” again as he looks up. “This is good, Mike. Thank you.”

He feels the warm, pleased glow even as Mike says, “It was no big deal.”

“Right. So, the meeting’s tomorrow at three. We should be set.”

“We?”

“Yes.”

“I get to sit in?”

“Mm. The sooner you learn how these things go, the sooner I can pawn them all off on you.”

“Right, of course.”

They’re both biting back grins. Outside, Harvey is sure Donna is rolling her eyes.

***

As far as merger meetings go, this one doesn’t even make the top twenty-five list of “Least Mind-Numbingly Dull”, but it still somehow ends up being Harvey’s breaking point.

He can feel the headache building between his temples as the other lawyer nitpicks over details that honestly aren’t worth that much attention and bitches about the terms, which are more than fair. The guy’s radiating anxious, angry agitation, obviously distracted by some external situation, and Harvey spares a moment to think _How very unprofessional_ before putting on his shark smile and proceeding to absolutely shut the man down. Mike, beside him, thrums with excitement, like he always does whenever he gets to witness Harvey work the opposition over.

Harvey normally enjoys Mike’s hero-worshippy giddiness, but right now it’s clashing horrifically with the insulted outrage of the lawyer sitting across from them. It feels like it’s building up, too, like a speaker that’s being slowly turned louder, and then there’s a sharp, resounding, soundless _CRACK_ that reverberates through Harvey’s mind like a gunshot. He falters, stumbling slightly over his words, as the discordant onslaught suddenly intensifies. _Holy fuck, what the hell?_

He barely remembers what he ended up saying, after that, only that he got his way. Things ease up a bit once he and Mike are back in the town car. Mike chatters during the twenty minute ride back to the office, but Harvey mostly has him tuned out, too busy trying not to let any of his internal panic show. Nothing like that has ever happened before. It had felt… Jesus, like a fault line in stone, foundation cracking. Not good.

It’s not quite evening when they make it back to the firm, but the elevator is mercifully empty as he and Mike step into it. Mike’s been shooting him these puzzled, concerned little looks off and on for the last ten minutes when Harvey failed to respond to any of his movie references. The rambling has died down too, and Harvey can’t decide if he’s thankful for the brief quiet or not, because at least it had been a mild distraction from his own rising uneasiness. There’s a light chime when the elevator doors open onto their floor and then suddenly there are _people_ and something in his head just…shatters. He staggers against the sudden unchecked wave of emotion that hits him, distantly feels as his hand comes in contact with the elevator wall for support. He must have made some sort of sound, something, because he can just hear Mike’s worried “Harvey?” over the rushing in his ears, the younger man’s concern a blazing sharpness that’s far too close.

He’s not entirely sure, later, how he managed to get to his office. He remembers seeing _feeling_ Donna as he goes inside, remembers seeing _feeling_ her _bewilderedconcernedalarmed_ expression when he walks past her. She must have said something to him, but he doesn’t know what it was. Mike’s not far behind him, still bright and sharp, overwhelming, and the only good thing about that is that it’s a constant for him to focus on rather than the flood threatening to swallow him. He makes it to the couch before he just _can’t_ and sits down hard. Some part of him recognizes, dimly, that his breathing is coming rather uneven and shallow, that if he doesn’t get a hold of himself he’s going to hyperventilate (and oh, isn’t this whole thing just going to do _wonders_ for his image), that Mike is still close by and is speaking.

Harvey forces his eyes open _when had they closed?_ to find Mike leaning halfway out the door, talking to Donna in a quiet voice. He registers “…sudden headache on the way back, I think it might be a migraine. Can you, um, block the phone and keep everyone out for a while?” and Donna’s nod as she says something in response, before he leans back against the sofa and closes his eyes again. He hears the soft _whoosh-snick_ when the door closes, and then it’s silent for long enough that he thinks he’s been left alone.

The sound of the blinds being drawn is enough to startle him a bit, and he cracks an eye back open just enough to make out Mike standing a few feet away, tugging them down to hide the inside of the office from view.

It’s comfortingly dim, then- the sun having passed behind the higher buildings, and the lights of the office hidden behind the blinds. He’s expecting… he’s not sure, exactly, but it’s definitely not for Mike’s brow to furrow as he takes several steps in Harvey’s direction. “Mike…” he says, a warning, and his voice is rough, almost hoarse. The younger man pauses momentarily, looking consideringly at Harvey for a moment, before continuing in his approach. Harvey tenses. He’s not sure what he needs right now, what will help, but close proximity to anyone is definitely not it.

Mike pauses again, only a couple feet from Harvey, and they eye each other for a moment, Harvey coiled and trying to anticipate what Mike is going to do, but it’s so hard to think through the rushing swells buffeting in from all directions. The kid holds his gaze a second longer, and then darts forward, closing the distance between them.

Several things happen in the next split second. Mike moves a hand toward his, like he’s going to touch, and he has this intent, determined expression on his face. Through the jumbled haze of input overload, something in Harvey’s mind is shrieking out a panicked _no No NO_ because he _will not_ be able to handle it if Mike touches him right now. He jerks away sharply, but Mike has brought his other hand up to try to steady him or something, and then there are gentle fingertips pressed against his temple. He lets out a choked gasp, screwing his eyes shut and throwing up what’s left of his battered barriers in a last ditch attempt to keep out the impending flood.

Except it never comes.

There’s just that weird, rumbling hum. Then everything slots into place, and Harvey is gaping slightly at Mike, because, holy _crap_ , the kid’s _projecting._ Harvey has met maybe one person in the entirety of his lifetime that could kind of, almost, project stuff at him, and even then it was just whatever the guy was feeling, amplified. Mike’s sending him…he doesn’t even know. Sensation, almost. Feeling, rather than emotion, which is just. What the hell.

So for the second time in his life, Harvey finds himself staring at Michael Ross (how is a reformed pot-head college drop-out this much of an enigma?) and asking, “How are you doing that?”

And then, _and then,_ Mike has the gall to grin cheekily at him and say, “Pretty cool, right?”

The kid sobers a second later, though, and asks, “Better?”

“Mike.”

Mike sighs. “The university I went to had a big empathic studies department,” he says, quietly. “There was a section of the library portioned off for the papers and theses being published by the grad students. I spent a lot of time there, and ended up reading through some of them: one was a study on projection. It was actually really detailed, but there still weren’t many people who could manage to do it correctly in practice, so it was mostly theoretical. Anyway, long story short, I had a friend who was an empath and thought it might be helpful if I learned how to do it.”

If he wasn’t so certain that it would come out sounding borderline hysterical, Harvey would be laughing right now, because of course, _of course_ Mike learned it from a book. Of course he just read it and did his weird memory thing, _why would he have gotten it from anywhere else._

“So you found a thesis focusing on a mostly theoretical practice that hardly anyone can do and figured you’d just pick it up and work out how to do it. For kicks.”

Mike shifts uncertainly.

“I had a friend who was an empath,” he repeats. “I was able to help her out sometimes whenever she needed to de-stress.” Despite everything, Harvey can’t help ticking an eyebrow up a bit at that. Mike scowls at him even as his face flushes. “Not like _that._ ”

He shifts again and takes a small step back, cautiously pulling his hand away. His eyes never leave Harvey’s face. Harvey huffs, leaning back.

“I can still feel whatever it is you’re doing, kid. Don’t look so concerned.”

Mike’s worried look shifts to one of puzzlement, and then excited comprehension. “You’re a distance reader! Oh dude, that is so awesome! Cassidy and I had to be touching for her to feel anything.”

“What have we discussed about that word?” Harvey grouses. Mike looks completely unrepentant, still grinning as he flops down on the opposite side of the couch.

“That it’s your absolute favorite and to call you it at every available opportunity.” He fidgets a bit and his voice goes serious again. “But seriously, better? Ish?”

Harvey eyes him sidelong before rubbing a hand over his face with a sigh. “It’s…yeah. Better. What are you sending me, anyway?”

“I’m not…exactly sure?” Mike’s cheeks have gone slightly pink.

“You’re not sure? How can you not know what you’re projecting?”

“Look, it was really complicated stuff, okay? I’m just not entirely sure how it works.”

“So you can figure everything else out on your own, but you suddenly need a degree in neurology to know what you’re sending me?”

“No! Just, the paper said there’s all this…stuff that happens when you pick it up, or whatever, and there was something about physiological reactions and the interpretation of the individual, or something, and it was seriously crazy complex. I don’t think they even really understood what was going on with the empathic side of it anyway, so it doesn’t really matter, does it? It works, it’s helping. Don’t look at me like that, this stuff wasn’t my major.”

“Alright. None of that changes the fact that you’re deflecting and you still have to know what you’re going to project before you send it. See how that works? Logic?”

“Ha. I see what you did there,” Mike deadpans, dragging a hand through his hair. It makes it stick up at odd angles. “It sounds stupid, trying to explain it out loud.”

Harvey hums, eyeing him, but decides to let it drop for the moment, because whatever Mike’s doing really is helping a lot. So instead, he asks, “How’d you know?”

Mike blinks at him. “What?”

“About the empathy.”

“Oh! I didn’t. Not until Friday, anyway.”

At Harvey’s expectant gaze, he continues. “Cass had these tells, whenever she was having trouble, and when it got really bad she’d get super temperamental. Anyway, you had some of the same ones, so I kind of suspected. And then you went off on me on Friday for something pretty minor, and if there’s anything you’re not, it’s overly emotional, so that mostly confirmed it.”

Harvey frowns at him. “What tells?”

Mike grins at him. “Just little things. Like, you get all twitchy when people touch you unexpectedly. Seriously, though, the suits should have tipped me off sooner. You wear what, like, eight layers?”

His grin fades slightly when Harvey continues to frown. “None of them are things most people know to look for, Harvey. It took me this long to figure it out—I seriously doubt anyone else is going to. And I’m definitely not telling anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. Your secret is safe, Mr. Wayne.” He says the last part so seriously, Harvey can’t help but snort.

“Good to know, kid.”

He closes his eyes, then, settling back further into the couch and letting Mike’s projected hum wash over him. Now that he’s focused on it, it sounds vaguely familiar, but he can’t really draw the energy to think too hard on it. It’s comforting though, whatever it is. He doesn’t really want to move, but… “We have paperwork to finalize,” he sighs.

“Yeah,” Mike murmurs. “Um. Should I… Do you want me to leave?”

_Sort of,_ Harvey thinks. Letting anyone see him in any state of vulnerability grates, no matter who it is. But at the same time, he’s not sure if his mental walls are up for holding everything off for the next hour or so before the office empties out, and he’d really prefer not to test them. So he says, “No,” as he shifts to get up and move over to his desk. “No, go ahead and stay.” It comes out sounding somewhat resigned. Mike doesn’t look like he minds in the slightest.

They work quietly; Mike on briefs for the next case they have lined up, Harvey on making sure the contract is finalized and ready to file. A glance at the clock a while later tells him it’s already seven o’clock, and he rises from his chair and goes over to look through the blinds.

“All clear?” Mike asks.

“Looks like,” Harvey says, glancing over at him as he moves back to the desk to shut down his computer and grab his things. “I’m going to head home. You should too; those can wait until tomorrow.”

Mike’s grin is wide and happy, and Harvey expects some sappy comment about _caring_ , but all the kid says is, “Awesome,” as he packs up his bag. He’s up and moving to the door a couple minutes later.

“Night, Harvey,” he says, waving slightly.

“Night,” Harvey nods. “Oh, Mike.”

The younger man pauses halfway through the door, and says, “Yeah?” sounding almost nervous.

“Thank you.”

Harvey catches the flicker of relief that crosses Mike’s face before a smile spreads to replace it, small and sweet. “Anytime.”


End file.
